“Not what you expected?” Sharro’s smile had widened, bringing out a dimple on one side.
“I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Good answer. Have a seat in one of the chairs, please. Would you like something to drink? I have tang water and a mixed fruit juice. Also summer cider, but only one of you is legal for that.”
Mouse asked for a summer cider, while Rahel accepted tang water. She sipped the icy drink and watched Sharro take a chair opposite them.
“So you want to be a prime, eh?”
Rahel had only recently learned what that meant. “It’s, um, a little more natural for me than trying to be shy and frightened.”
“I can see that.” Sharro did not bother to disguise her appraising look. “Well, it’s certainly safer than what our Mouse does.”
“I can take care of myself,” Mouse said. “Have been for cycles. Let’s focus on the one of us who actually needs your help.”
Sharro made a soft humming sound as she turned to Rahel. “Just to be clear, I don’t officially know what you’re doing and if I did know, I could not condone it. For either of you. It’s not safe for you and it’s illegal for your . . . hypothetical clients.”
Rahel nodded.
“I started out the same way,” Sharro said in a gentler tone. “Sometimes we don’t have good options. But working with clients who want you to take control is a much better option than working with clients who want to control you.”
“Now I’m jealous,” Mouse said.
“Unfortunately, sweet Mouse, you couldn’t be a prime even if you were four handspans taller and weighed twice as much. You don’t have the attitude.”
“Rahel does. I knew that the day I met her. She walked up to two muscleheads twice her size who were beating my face in and asked if they didn’t have anything better to do. The next thing I knew, one of them was lying in the street and the other was running away.”
“Which is why we’re speaking today.” Sharro’s gaze bored into her. “I’m very fond of Mouse. And he’s very fond of you.”
Rahel still wasn’t sure what their relationship was. Mouse said that he had been seeing Sharro for some time, but he couldn’t possibly be paying for her services as a prime. She couldn’t imagine anything further from his desires. Even if he did want that, he couldn’t get it from a pleasure house until after his Rite of Ascension, almost two cycles from now.
“How do you know each other?” she asked bluntly. “Mouse said it was hard for him to explain, but that you could tell me.”
“Do I have your consent, Mouse?”
“Yes. She’s my best friend.”
“One does not necessarily lead to the other.”
“In her case, it does.”
An approving smile warmed Sharro’s expression. “Mouse has just given me permission to tell you that he sees me professionally, as a comfort giver.”
“I don’t know what that is,” Rahel said.
Even the way Sharro moved seemed exotic, all flowing lines and smooth elegance as she leaned back and crossed her ankles. “We live in a world of emotional control, with a strong taboo against some forms of touch. Everyone has times when they need to let go of one and ignore the other. As a comfort giver, I’m here for those times.”
“I still don’t understand.” She looked to Mouse for clarification. “You come here to let go of your emotions? You can do that at home.”
“He comes here for comfort,” Sharro answered for him. “Tell me, Rahel, when was the last time you experienced a warmron? And I don’t mean a sweaty clinch with a client.”
She snapped her mouth shut; she had been about to give that very answer.
“From Mouse,” she said. “When he was training me.”
“Mm-hm. And before that?”
It would have been her mother. No one else ever gave her warmrons. But their last conversation had started with anger and ended with her mother walking out, so that would make it . . .
“Um, four moons, I think?”
“Four moons. That is entirely too long to go without basic physical and emotional comfort.” Sharro rose, her loose pants settling around her legs with a barely audible sigh of fabric. In two steps she was in front of Rahel, holding out a long-fingered hand. “I can demonstrate, if you’ll allow it.”
Rahel took her hand and stood, not sure what she was getting herself into but determined to see it through.
“There is no need for such strength of will,” Sharro said. “I will do this only if you wish it. This is about what you want, not what is being done to you.”
Her hand was cool and soft, and Rahel felt nothing through their touch but genuine interest and kindness.
Mouse trusted this person. That was enough for her.
“Show me,” she said.
Sharro gave her a small smile, then folded her into a warmron. Rahel stood stiffly, not sure what to do with herself while being embraced by a stranger.
“Relax, Rahel.” Sharro began to rub her spine, a slow and gentle touch. “Relax and let go. You don’t have to be on guard here. You don’t have to be strong. You can just be you. Mouse is your friend and I will never judge you.”
She had thought she could just submit to the warmron, put up with it for as long as needed, and sit down again. But Sharro did not pull back, and her compassion was warm and inviting. The longer Rahel stood there, the less able she was to stand firm. The words, the comforting touch on her back, the strength of the arms that held her . . . before she realized it, she was melting into the embrace, laying her head on Sharro’s shoulder and holding on for all she was worth.
“This is a perfectly normal need,” Sharro murmured. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s how we’re built. Everyone needs to be touched and held. When we’re children, we experience it all the time. Or at least, we should. Then we grow up and suddenly we’re supposed to let that go, never to feel it again until we find a lover.”
Her hand shifted, leaving Rahel’s spine to run up the back of her head. With a light touch, she scratched Rahel’s scalp and caressed her hair.
Her mother had never done that. Rahel thought she might dissolve into a puddle right there on the floor. It felt indescribably wonderful.
“But what about the people who don’t have a lover?” Sharro asked quietly. “What about the people who lose their lovers? Or surviving bondmates who have loved for half a lifetime and then find themselves alone, with no one they’re allowed to touch and be touched by? What about parents who have held their children for two tencycles and now, suddenly, their children have passed their Rite of Ascension and they can’t give them warmrons any longer? How is it right that we’re allowed to experience this at some points of our lives but not others?”
“It’s not,” Rahel mumbled into her shoulder. She never wanted this to end.
“No, it’s not.” Sharro’s hand left her hair, ran down the length of her spine, and came back up to her shoulder. Slowly, she brought her other hand to the opposite shoulder, then squeezed as she pushed herself away. Before Rahel could feel the separation too keenly, Sharro brushed a soft kiss to her forehead and looked straight into her eyes. “Are you all right?”
She didn’t know. She didn’t want Sharro to stop, but this was just a demonstration. She had no right to any more than this. But it seemed cruel, to give her a taste of something she’d never had and then ask her to give it up.
“You don’t have to go without.” Sharro had apparently read her mind. “Pleasure houses offer many services to underage clients. Muscle massage, heat massage, aromatherapy, relaxation sessions, energy work . . . and comfort giving. And we don’t require caste ID for entry.”
“Do you see why I come here?” Mouse asked.
Rahel stared into the green eyes so close to hers. “Fahla, yes. I just don’t understand how you ever leave.”
With a warm smile, Sharro released her. “You should know that comfort givers choose their clients. We have to be able to make a genuine con
nection, or we can’t offer what the client needs. If you wished it, I would choose you. Mouse’s recommendation already goes a long way with me, but what I just felt from you—”
“Yes,” Rahel blurted. “I would choose you, too. I just don’t know if I can afford it.”
“With what you’ve been making? You can,” Mouse said.
Sharro reached out, caressed Rahel’s cheek, and turned toward her chair.
“Great Mother,” Rahel mumbled under her breath, dropping into her own chair without a hint of grace. “You’ve been holding out on me, Mouse.”
He looked down. “I was embarrassed to tell you.”
“Why in Fahla’s name—”
“Because you’re so shekking strong,” he said, meeting her eyes with a hint of defiance. “You don’t need anyone or anything. I’m not like that.”
“No one is that strong,” Sharro said. “I’ve told you that.”
“She is,” he insisted. “You should have seen her after some blindworm tried to kill her by throwing her off the top deck of a ship. She survived a forty-stride drop into the water, swam to the dock, walked home, and told me she was all right.”
Sharro did not look at Rahel. “And was she?”
“More than I would have been. Now she’s taking clients when she’d never even joined before, and the next thing I know, she’s telling me about putting a client into a headlock—” He threw his hands in the air. “It’s a joke that she’s not already in the warrior caste.”
“Everyone has strengths. That Rahel’s are not the same as yours doesn’t mean yours are any less.”
“I would—” Rahel began, but Sharro held up a hand, still without looking at her.
“Why would you have brought her here if you were embarrassed to admit you saw me professionally?”
He looked between them. “Because she needs your help.”
“That’s strength, Mouse. Also friendship of the highest quality. You set aside your embarrassment because it was less important than her need. You’re a good and giving friend, and from what I can sense, Rahel knows that very well.” She met Rahel’s eyes then, silently telling her to speak.
“You’re my family, you grainbird,” Rahel said.
Mouse burst into laughter. “Well, that took care of my moment of self-pity.” He slapped his thighs and rose from his chair. “So I can leave you two alone, then?”
“You can,” Sharro said. “I’ll take good care of her.”
“I know.” He stepped over to Rahel, his back to Sharro, and whispered, “You can tell her anything.” Then he let himself out the door.
16
PRIME
“Come, sit here with me.” Sharro had silently moved to the curved couch while Rahel was watching Mouse leave. “It’s more comfortable.”
Rahel retrieved her tang water and sat on the other end of the couch. She yearned to renew their physical contact, which was why she was staying as far away as she could. This sort of need was dangerous.
“Before we start,” Sharro said, “I want you to know that a pleasure house is a one-way door when it comes to confidence. Anything you say in here does not leave.”
“Even if I’m not paying you?”
“Even then. This may be an informal session, but we’re still inside safe walls. All of us who work here consider that to be the highest rule.”
“Meaning the next time you see Mouse, you won’t tell him what we talked about?” She was partially joking, trying to offset her unease.
“I will never tell Mouse anything you say and I will never tell you anything he says. Not unless you give me specific consent.”
“Like he did just now.”
“Yes. Of course, the rule excludes things you say in the presence of each other.” She settled herself against the cushioned back. “Mouse believes you lived through a murder attempt and were fine afterward. Is he right?”
Rahel looked down into the courtyard while she thought about how to answer. A few people were strolling through the gardens, some in couples and others alone. One older man sat on a bench beneath a tree and stared up into its branches.
“I survived,” she said. “I came home.” And the crew chief never would. His body had washed ashore six days later. It had been the talk of the bayfront, but the conclusion was that he had died trying to escape the fire.
“Then your definition of being fine is surviving?”
“Surviving is the best I can do right now.”
“And when you’re done just surviving, what do you want then?”
“To be a warrior.”
“It sounds like you’re well on your way. How will taking clients get you what you want?”
What an odd question. Why would anyone do what she was doing?
“I need the cinteks. I have to support myself until I’m eighteen, and then I have to support myself through training.”
“I’m not familiar with warrior training. How long does it take?”
A lifetime, if she did it right. To qualify for what she wanted to do . . . “Maybe another four cycles?”
Sharro sipped her drink, set it aside, and caught Rahel in a serious gaze. “Then your plan is to simply survive for another five and a half cycles.”
“No, I just need—”
She stopped. She had only been thinking about that magical number of eighteen. A cycle and a half, and everything would change. But training would be difficult and time-consuming, and how else could she fund it, even with a warrior caste ID? She had no sponsor, and her parents would never help. In her work experience so far, only one thing paid the kind of income she needed without taking all of her available time.
Fahla, she would be servicing clients forever. Five and a half more cycles of this? She had been doing it for less than half a moon and already she was sick of it.
“I didn’t mean to make you unhappy,” Sharro said. “My apologies. I only wanted to point out that surviving is not enough. You have a goal; that’s admirable. You’re working toward that goal—more admirable yet. But you must live, too. Don’t waste the life you have right now waiting for that future dream.”
“I thought you were supposed to be teaching me how to be a prime.” This conversation was making Rahel itchy. She needed to push it somewhere else.
“True. But I wonder if our dear Mouse’s considerable understanding of Alsean nature extends to this. Do you share his opinion that priming a client is about headlocks and force?”
“I don’t know what it’s about. That’s why he dragged me here.”
Mouse would have recoiled from such obvious irritation. Sharro merely inclined her head. “Being a prime means understanding your clients’ needs and responding to them. Their psychological needs, not just their physical ones,” she added. “But first you must understand your own. Do you know what those are?”
“No, but I know you want to tell me. And I don’t think this is working.” The itch had dug deep between her shoulder blades, compelling her to move, to run, to do something. This was not supposed to be about her; it was supposed to be about other people. People with simple needs she could be paid to satisfy. “Thank you for your time,” she said, rising from the couch. “I’m sorry to have wasted it.”
She had gotten one step away when Sharro spoke in a tone that demanded obedience.
“Rahel, sit down.”
She froze.
“Sit down now.”
Before she could decide what to do, her backside was already on the couch.
Sharro had not moved, nor had her expression changed. “That was a command voice. One of the first tools you’ll need as a prime. I have no way to keep you here. I would never physically force you, and even if I tried, you’re trained. You could incapacitate me and be gone in two pipticks, am I right?”
Slowly, Rahel nodded.
“Then if you really wanted to leave, you would. Yet you obeyed me. Why?”
She had no idea.
“Because leaving isn’t what you want,” Shar
ro answered for her. “I gave you a command that you wanted to obey.”
When she shifted in her seat, drawing slightly closer, Rahel’s heart beat faster.
“What you do want is to get physically close to me,” Sharro said. “To touch me and be touched, the way we did a few ticks ago. But you don’t think you’re supposed to want that. Or perhaps you’re afraid of it. You denied yourself what you want and made yourself walk away from it, until I gave you permission to stop denying.”
“That’s . . .” Ridiculous, she wanted to say. But the itch between her shoulder blades was gone. Sharro had laid it all out in the open and there was nowhere to hide.
“Being a prime is about giving your clients freedom. They think it’s about control, but it’s not. It’s about understanding what they deny themselves, and giving them permission to accept it.”
What had the blonde scholar been denying herself? She had begun their session in a position of overt dominance, but the moment Rahel took that away, she folded like a sheet.
So she had wanted to be physically controlled. She wanted the exact opposite of what she initially demanded. But for some reason, her true wants were unacceptable to her. Rahel’s forceful manipulation of her body gave her permission to be submissive while telling herself that she wasn’t—because it was being demanded from her.
With a start, Rahel remembered reading about this. It was behavioral manipulation, an advanced aspect of warrior training. Though the books never spoke of it in quite this form, the principle was the same. She almost laughed at the thought: she could work with Sharro and consider it part of her training.
Or was she just giving herself permission?
“You’re thinking very hard over there.” Sharro was smiling at her.
“I think . . . I understand what you’re saying. I do want to touch you. But you said it was just a demonstration, and I didn’t bring any cinteks with me.”
“I also said I would choose you. One of the benefits of working in a pleasure house is that I don’t have to limit myself to what I get paid for.”